


Lonely at the Top (The #10 Remix)

by karaokegal



Category: British Comedy RPF, Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: British Comedy, British Politics, Crack, Gen, Humor, RPF, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 09:44:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karaokegal/pseuds/karaokegal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leave it to Charlie to let a joke get out of hand.  Leave it to David to make the most of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lonely at the Top (The #10 Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Christmas, Mitchell Residence](https://archiveofourown.org/works/607210) by [Scribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scribe/pseuds/Scribe). 



> Thanks to [michelleann68](http://michelleann68.livejournal.com/) for speedy and excellent Beta.

The call from Mike Read was the last straw.

 

MOD had already forced him to turn over his own mobile, so all the calls were going through Charlie, who stared at his own phone with a look of bemused disbelief and shook his head before announcing that Mike Read wanted to offer congratulations.

 

Christ! Who was next, Anne Widdicombe?

 

David wanted to blow off the call all-together, but he was no longer in a position to do that. Instead he spent three minutes of what was now actual precious time, making inane chit-chat with a washed-up radio personality he loathed and had reviled on national television for making the Conservative Party appear half-way human and that was before Read had started cosying up to those lunatics at UKIP.

 

Only now he had to be at least semi-polite to the smarmy bastard. He tried to maintain his death-glare at the person he held responsible for this nightmare, only that person had gone to the front door to reassure the ravenous hoards that they would be fed by half-three. In other words, there would be a new cabinet appointment to feed the gaping maw of the 24 hour news cycle for another day.

 

Charlie returned looking a bit too pleased with himself. Ever since being appointed Deputy Prime Minister, he’d been taking on the airs of Grand Vizier as if born for the job. Who’d have thought that two of television’s crankiest gadflies would end up running the country?

 

Leave it to Charlie to let a joke get out of hand.

 

Of course every time he pointed out to Charlie that this was completely his fault and that David had never had any interest in this sort of thing beyond taking the piss out of the cretins who actually wanted it enough to get the job, Charlie would just retaliate with the fact that David _could_ have opted for a charade involving a cat and an SUV or even an attack of Ninjas having appendicitis or some such.

 

To which David would inevitably respond with, “Yes, but…,” and immediately hit the wall of reality.

 

Yes, he had initiated the whole mess simply by reaching out to Charlie via text message for some solace or at least amusement during a rather tedious Christmas party when he was stuck in a conversation with his mother’s cousin’s new husband and stepson. It was his own social awkwardness and the resulting self-pity that had started the ball rolling. Charlie was just trying to help, offering David a way out of the situation, a rather sweet gesture from a man whose public persona was that of being such a prick he was the last person on earth you would turn to in a time of emotional need. David knew him better than that; knew there was a genuinely sweet man behind all that bitterness and bluster.

 

That’s why he’d decided to text back, even after the evening had taken a turn for the better. For dinner, he’d snagged a seat next to Emily, the good cousin, and they’d been having a pleasant conversation. He couldn’t keep himself from checking the repeated messages from Charlie offering more and more outlandish emergencies which could be used to spring David from the party. Since Charlie was going to trouble of coming up with these ideas, David felt the need to at least acknowledge them and play along a bit.

 

The cat and SUV combo was a bit obvious and faking a Christmas charity drive was a bigger threat to his eventual Karma than David wanted to risk. Doorknob fell off? They’d already used that on WILTY. That pretty much left the Ninja attack or the possibility of David being elected Prime Minister and needing to assume the post immediately. There seemed more humour potential on the PM route.

 

_I rather fancy being prime minister. Come on over._

 

He’d sent the text and then put the phone away to deal with a rather monstrous Christmas dinner and try to find a single plausible excuse to turn down the pudding that wouldn’t open up a conversation about his recent weight-loss.

 

David had felt safe offering to become Prime Minister, simply because he didn’t think Charlie had the clout to pull it off. Futhermore, it honestly hadn’t occurred to him that people were fed up enough to throw out David Cameron on a whim. Oh sure, nobody actually _liked_ Cameron, but except for maybe about five minutes after Tony Blair was first elected, David couldn’t remember a time when anybody had liked the Prime Minister, no matter who it was. Thatcher, Major, Blair, Brown. Everybody hated them and they stayed in power anyway. They didn’t get ousted overnight in favour of a comedian, even one who the Telegraph had labeled, “One of the country’s rising wordsmiths,” back in 2003. Therefore it was exceedingly unlikely that would be any repercussions from continuing Charlie’s joke.

 

Or so he’d thought until just before it was time to pull the Christmas crackers, when the door-bell rang and Mum announced that there was a man at the door to see David and a black Jaguar parked outside the house. The man turned out to be Charlie with a look on his face that surpassed any level of smugness seen since in the UK since George W. Bush’s last visit, accompanied by a few rather bewildered looking MOD types, who whisked David into the back-seat of the car where David Cameron himself was sitting with an expression of blessed relief on his face.

 

Things moved rather quickly after that, although it took about an hour for David to be completely convinced that this wasn’t the greatest practical joke of all time and that it was in fact, David Cameron, handing over the keys to Downing Street and all the responsibility that came with it. The matter was finally settled when he rang up Stephen Fry to confirm the ludicrous state of affairs. After all, Stephen knew everything, and Stephen immediately pitched himself as Secretary of State for Education. Therefore it had to be true.

 

Which reminded David that his first job was to pick a Cabinet. Some choices were obvious. Secretary of State for Wales-Rob Bryden. He was half-tempted to put in Lee Mack as Deputy Prime Minister, just for the fun of actually getting to be Lee’s boss. That barely lasted a minute. Deputy PM _had_ to be Charlie, especially since it turned out that Victoria wasn’t all that keen to move into Number 10. He honestly couldn’t blame her, as it turned out to be a bit of a dump and there was that whole thing about not being able to get in from the outside. Not much privacy going on there. Charlie didn’t seem to mind and the two of them had been holed up inside, stepping out only to make inflammatory cabinet announcements and for that one truly surreal trip to Buckingham Palace.

 

So two weeks into his “reign” as Charlie had rather disturbingly taken to calling it, David was still busy fielding calls from people he had no desire to talk to and putting together a Government based on friendships, whims, and possibly a desire to see how far he could push this insanity before either angry mobs with pitch-forks actually appeared or he woke up in 1973. If the world had gone mad enough to give him power, why not have some fun with it? Well, maybe not _too_ much fun. Charlie had effectively talked him out of making Clarkson the Secretary of State for Environment, by pointing out the public health hazard caused by heads exploding across the UK and Europe, not to mention his potential demise. Even for a laugh, the risk wasn’t quite worth it.

 

Charlie did have a brilliant alternative. Either this was going to prove that he could honestly get away with anything, or it was going to result in David being demoted back to his previous titles of comedian, writer and presenter. Either way-result.

 

The nominee had been snuck into Downing Street during the dead of night to avoid detection and the time for the announcement was approaching.  


“Are you sure about this?” he asked the man who’d been sitting quietly amidst the manic hubbub, going over some notes, or possibly composing his last will and testament in case things went completely tits up.  


“Why not? Faced tougher crowds than this. You try a comedy club in Slough on a Friday night.”   


He shrugged in a way that was almost too fatalistic. David glanced over to Charlie and got what was presumably supposed to be a reassuring nod, but instead came across as the bit the where the scheming courtier convinces the deluded monarch to make the decision that leads to the courtier assuming power. Maybe David shouldn’t have ordered a complete collection of Disney movies for Number 10’s entertainment center.

 

“All right, let’s go.”

 

“Hold on,” Charlie said, looking at his phone. “Call coming in from Lord Mandelson. Here’s your big chance to call him “Mandy” to his face.:  
David could think of several things he’d like to call Lord Mandelson, “Mandy” not being any of them. If Mike Read was bad, this was a thousand times worse. He didn’t want to be a man who had to take calls from Mandy. So either ex-Prime Minister or El Presidente it was. Now was the time.

 

“Let’s go,” David repeated, in his most commanding tone, one he’d only recently discovered he had in his repertoire.

 

Charlie went out first, calling the media rabble to order and holding the door while David and his new appointment came into view. They all stood there, savouring the gasps and the titters that gave way to an awed hush at his audacity. All right then, he thought. The Mitchell era in British Government had truly begun.

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the new Chancellor of the Exchequer, Mr. Jimmy Carr!


End file.
